The Greatest Weapon
by surrexi
Summary: I want you to know that I'm here for you. So you can be strong, too.


Title: The Greatest Weapon  
Author: Liz (endless.rains at gmail dot com)  
Distribution: See profile.  
Rating: PG   
Spoilers/Timeline: Post-HBP  
Ship: Harry/Ginny, slight R/Hr   
Disclaimer: This is JKR's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.   
Summary: "I want you to know that I'm here for you. So you can be strong, too."

It was a bright, sunny day. Standing at a window, staring pensively out at the view below, Harry Potter tried to remind himself to enjoy the sun while it still shone down on him. After all, today Bill Weasley had married Fleur Delacour, and tomorrow, Harry was leaving the Burrow.

He stood in the room that had once belonged to Percy, but was now Harry's own, in an honorary way; Percy still stubbornly clung to a Ministry-paid flat in London, and a position as the assistant to the assistant to the assistant to the Minister, or some such thing like that. Harry was sure Percy had told him the actual title, in that pompous voice of his, the last time he'd been at the Burrow. He'd spoken only to Harry, and even then only in yet another attempt by the Minister to get Harry's cooperation and support. Harry had declined, and Percy had promptly Disapparated, leaving Mrs. Weasley standing in the kitchen trying to ignore the trembling of her upper lip.

The next day, Mrs. Weasley had told Harry to please straighten up _his_ room, as Remus and Tonks were on their way and she wanted the Burrow to look its best. Harry had thought it best not to comment on the change of ownership, but had merely gone upstairs to make the bed.

On this day, however, the room needed no straightening. Harry's trunk was neatly packed, and sitting on top of it was a rambler's backpack carefully stuffed with all things Harry had deemed necessary for a trip to Godric's Hollow. The bed was made, the closets were organized, and there was nothing under the bed. But Harry took none of this in.

He gazed down at the yard below, where Bill and Fleur's reception was in full swing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, chatting amiably with Fleur's mother and father. Fred and George were having an intense conversation about Quidditch with colleagues of Bill's from Gringotts, and the guests of honor were dancing on the temporary dance floor and gazing into each other's eyes lovingly. A slight smile tugged at a corner of Harry's mouth, until he noticed another couple on the dance floor.

Ron and Hermione were dancing happily, having set aside their usual good-natured bickering in order to have an even better time _not_ bickering. A guilty feeling tugged at Harry's stomach when he thought about what he was dragging them into – or, rather, what he was allowing them to drag themselves into. Truth be told, he was grateful that they insisted on accompanying him on his quest to defeat Lord Voldemort. He knew he could use all the help and support he could get, and there weren't two people he trusted more to guard his back than Ron and Hermione. And if Harry's secret weapon was love, then he might as well have people he loved as much as Ron and Hermione with him.

But that argument, he told himself, didn't hold in _other_ areas of his life. _Other_ people he loved, he had to leave behind. For their own safety. And judging by the faint flowery scent which never failed to sooth any nerves Harry felt, that _other person_ was standing behind him, having snuck in silently.

"I know you're there, Ginny." He didn't turn, nor did she expect him to.

She said nothing, only reached out and touched his shoulder in a silent gesture of support. Then she stepped forward to stand next to him, sliding her hand down his arm and lacing her fingers with his. She watched her family and friends celebrate below them and, not for the first – or last – time, mentally cursed the fates that made it so Harry was up here instead of down there. They stood like that for a few minutes, just holding hands, until Ginny finally broke the silence.

"Mum'll get worried when she notices you're not out there." Harry squeezed her hand in response, but said nothing. Ginny took a deep breath, then let it out decisively, as if she'd just made a difficult decision but was pleased with herself for having reached it. She turned toward Harry, took his other hand so that she held them both. "I have things to say to you, Harry."

"Ginny—"

"No," she interrupted, reaching up with one hand and lightly touching his lips. "My turn." She shifted her hand to rest on his cheek. "I know you won't let me come with you. So I'm not going to beg." She took his hands again, squeezed. "But I want you to promise me – promise me, Harry – that you won't hesitate to call on me, to let me help when you need me."

"Ginny, I can't risk you."

"But I can risk you?" Now she raised both hands to his cheeks, her eyes locked with his. "Can't you see, Harry? I have to let you go, I have to let you walk away, because it's your destiny and your choice – to fight Voldemort, to fulfill the prophecy." Her voice trembled when she had said the name, but she held firm. "It doesn't change how I feel." She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead, had a glimpse of the familiar scar before the hair fell back to where it had been. "It doesn't change how you feel, either."

Harry dropped his forehead to hers and put his hands on her waist. "Ginny, if I come back…"

"_When_ you come back," she said firmly.

"If, Ginny. If I come back, and you still…want me…know that I will always still want you."

"_When_ you come back," she repeated, "I'll be waiting." She pulled back slightly so that she could look into his eyes again. "But you still have to promise me that you'll send for me if I can be of _any_ help, Harry."

"Ginny…" he began again.

"No, Harry. I know why you're taking Ron and Hermione. They're your best friends; you've been with them through everything else, and they deserve to go with you. And they wouldn't let you go alone anyway, and don't think I'm not grateful for that! But Harry, you have to let me…" she trailed off, visibly braced herself. "You have to let me love you, too!" Harry's eyes widened hugely; his lungs seemed to have suddenly emptied themselves.

She stepped even closer to him, so that every time he breathed he seemed to be infused with her flowery scent and everything it meant for him. "You said that the time we had at school was like someone else's life, but Harry... Harry, that _was_ your life! It was you and me and it was _real_, and it was _important_, Harry! And I'm not asking you to stay or change what plans you already have in motion and I'm not going to tell you to be careful." Suddenly overcome, she turned away to look out the window, staring blindly toward her parents and Ron and Hermione, who were now in conversation, and Bill and Fleur, still wrapped up in one another on the dance floor. She nodded down to them all.

"They have each other. And they're stronger for it." Still facing out the window, not wanting to risk the possible looks in Harry's eyes, Ginny continued in a quiet voice. "I want you to be strong, Harry. I want you to know that I'm here for you. So you can be strong, too."

Harry found himself gaping at the back of Ginny's head. He'd known that Dumbledore's death had forced him to early adulthood, and wondered why he was surprised that it had done the same for Ginny. But her quiet words touched him, got through to him in a way that neither Hermione's cool logic nor Ron's muttered ramblings ever would have. So he took her by the waist again and gently turned her around. He kissed her forehead tenderly.

"You're right, I won't take you with me." He managed to summon a smile for her. "Now." He kissed her forehead again. "But I will give you my promise that if I need you, I won't stop you coming." He touched his forehead to hers, then kissed her softly, tenderly.

"I love you, Ginny." Another soft kiss.

"I love you, too, Harry." She slid her arms up around his neck and buried her face against his chest in a tight hug, and he couldn't resist the impulse to bury his own face in her bright red hair.

And in that moment, for perhaps the first time, Harry realized that he truly understood why Dumbledore was so convinced that love was his greatest weapon.

_.fin._


End file.
